


Senses

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Girls Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Kissing, Perfume, Post-Canon, Post-Prison, Scents & Smells, Softness, kind of?, re-establishing a relationship, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18900946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: Debbie can feel Lou with all her senses.





	1. Sight

To be honest, what Debbie is finding most amazing about being back on the outside, back in the real world, back with Lou is how important the little things are. It's not like she hadn't been thinking about the blonde on the inside, but it's amazing how memory can blend things out, soften the edges and make things blur together. It's the little tics that she'd forgotten really, the way Lou tilts her head when she's concentrating on something, chin braced on four long fingers and the way her hair falls in her eyes. Lou's wardrobe had always been a bit different, it was one of the many, MANY things which Debbie had found so attractive years ago. If anything, it's gotten better with time. Time and money make all the difference to something like that. 

These days Lou seems to be even more herself somehow. That was something Debbie was always conscious of, the way Lou has somehow always been unapologetically herself and has only become moreso, like she's spent her whole life growing into the person she was always meant to be. Debbie is almost painfully aware that a large part of her problem is that, unlike Lou, she was never quite sure who it is she was meant to be underneath it all. Prison has a way of throwing crises like that into stark relief, or, at least, it did for her. It's hard to feel consigned to a life of crime when it's really all you've ever known. It's not like prison dented her aspirations.

Being reunited with Lou has been the best part of all of this, because if she did learn anything about herself in prison, it was that actually Lou was the person she needed. Missing her like that had felt like missing a limb. It took a lot to make Debbie Ocean admit that she'd made a mistake, she was far too proud for that kind of thing as a rule, and she doesn't believe in soul mates. Except that Lou was in her life until she wasn't and she now knows the truth of not recognising a good thing until it's gone. Now every single move Lou makes, every gesture, every rustle of her perfectly fitted suits just seems to bring it home, and Debbie just wants to bask in it, bask in her, drown in it. Really it's ridiculous the number of times she's caught herself staring at Lou from across the room, and every movement in her peripheral vision captures her attention again no matter what she was doing before.

It's worse than being a teenager really, just obsessing over Lou Miller, over the way she can rock a waistcoat with nothing underneath it, the way ties on her become transformed into the sexiest thing and really sometimes it feels like the whole world should be made out of leather and velvet. She can't help the way her cheeks flush every time she looks at her, but she's also starting to realise just how comforting the way Lou takes such complete ownership of the space around her is. Debbie might be uncertain and lost but Lou is certain, always, and Debbie is starting to draw comfort from the little gestures Lou only makes when she's comfortable.

It's the way her shoulders slump when she's tired after a long day at the club, going over the receipts. It's the way she fiddles with her lighter when she's not thinking, flicking the flame off and on, displacement activity for when she wants a cigarette but she's trying to quit and it's something to do with her hands. It's the way when she's laser focused on a problem that's in front of her, one hand finds its way inexorably to the light chain between her breasts and plays with it, drawing attention. Debbie knows how to play that game, she's done it to plenty of marks before, but Lou does it without thinking, and Debbie finds herself powerless not to stare, hypnotised, at the way the chain catches the light and flows over slender, skilled fingers, and disappears tantalisingly lower in the shadow of that valley. 

It's late one night when the others have all gone home, and Lou's been finishing up some things for the club, shifting her attention to her semi-legitimate business for the evening while Debbie finishes her coffee, legs crossed in a chair at the table and with nothing else to think about. 

"I know I'm irresistible, but do you really have to stare at me like that?"

"Hmm?"

It's Lou's voice that breaks the silence and shocks Debbie back to reality from her reverie. She tries to cover her confusion with another mouthful from the mug and goes for innocence. 

"I don't know what you mean."

But Lou is watching her now, those blue eyes knowing, dancing as she arches one perfect eyebrow and smirks. 

"I've heard you be more convincing Deb. Everyone's noticed. Fortunately for you it's a friendly crowd so far. Besides it's not like you haven't seen me before, you see me every night in fact, so why the staring?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"I'm just curious."

Debbie hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer as she drains the last mouthful of coffee and sets the mug down with a final sounding thunk on the table. It's surprisingly hard to find the words, but the whole of this new relationship is based on her trying for honesty, trying for communication. Really, if she can't talk to Lou, who can she talk to?

"...It's you. I mean obviously it's you, that's not, I mean-" She stops and tries again, "...I don't mean to stare, exactly. It's just that you're captivating and perfect and gorgeous and hot as hell and... I mean, you know all that. It's more than that, though. It's the way you... warp space around you, the way you radiate confidence and certainty and belonging, like you own your identity and who you are and you're not... you're so sure, of who you are and where you belong and that it's here, and you... it's like you're challenging someone to say something about it. And I know people have. I know that. But you're just... you're real, like earth or stone or metal and I'm... I don't feel real yet, I feel like water or air like I'm just... flowing away and directionless and rootless and... lost. And staring at you reminds me that after six years without you... I'm back where I belong too, because I belong with you, and you belong here. It's also, honestly, to remind myself that you're real, because sometimes it feels like it must have been a fantasy. I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was being so obvious about it. I'll do better."

And Lou watches her for a long moment as that familiar lazy smiles creeps across her lips. 

"Not saying you have to stop, I was just curious. If it makes you feel more at home, stare away. In fact, I'm almost done here, so why don't we go up soon and you can take a closer look?"

The look Lou gives her is sinful and Debbie can feel her mouth go a little dry as she licks her lips and tries to find her voice, ignoring the way it squeaks first time out of her mouth. 

"Yeah- yeah, that sounds good. Thanks. I love you."

"Love you too baby. Won't be long."


	2. Smell

It's surprising really, how powerful a sense smell can be. Prison didn't smell good. The prison she'd been in wasn't even that bad by prison standards really, and she was grateful it had been mostly white collar criminals. It kept things... less fraught. There were still distinct smells. Prison issue soap was one of them. That bath she'd taken in the hotel the night she got out had been hours of scrubbing herself from head to toe, trying to chase away the sharp chemical tang she didn't think would ever really fade. Lou is pretty amused by the hygiene routine she has now, the way she insists on washing every inch of herself, on certain shampoo and soap and body wash, the way that after every long shower which she indulges in to prove she can because the novelty hasn't worn off yet, she uses a ridiculous amount of lotion to rub into every inch of her skin. Debbie's just grateful that although she finds it funny and she doesn't understand it, she also doesn't judge her for it. 

As much as she's chasing her old self, trying to reclaim her identity, Debbie is finding a lot of grounding herself in Lou. The domesticity takes her by surprise, but there's a lot about routine that's grounding, and she's finding new favourite moments in every day. It's the little things. It's the way she can step up behind Lou while she's cooking and wrap around her waist and press her nose into Lou's hair or against her neck behind her ear, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and her perfume and her detergent and her skin and the way they all blend together into something that just smells like Lou. It's the way she can melt back into Lou just the same when the tables are turned and she's doing the dishes. It's the way when she's folding the laundry she sometimes takes a minute to sniff Lou's shirts because it feels almost like an embrace. That's one of the little habits she'd never admit to, and really she's just glad Lou hasn't caught her yet. There's probably something a little creepy about that really.

What ambushes her one day is opening the closet in what's nominally her room and digging around to see what she still has, whether she still wants it, whether she'll ever wear it. There's a surprising number of things with memories attached to them, both sweet and... not so much. She digs out from the back the dress she was wearing the first time she'd ever met Lou, the dress she wore for the first ever job they did together, holding it up on the hanger and staring at it wondering idly if she could still fit into it. She barely notices the shirt that comes tumbling out with it until the colour catches her eye, and she picks it up for a closer look, out of curiousity if nothing else. 

The cologne hits her nose first, and she throws it across the room in a desperate attempt to get it as far away from her as possible as she retches, hand over her mouth as her stomach turns, rebelling, threatening to reject the breakfast she'd forced down an hour ago. That's not a good smell. That's what Claude reeked of, every single day of their relationship, worse still the day he sent her to jail. It's burned into her mind, and the rage of it bubbles up inside her all over again, rage and sorrow. With the dress forgotten on the bed, she stalks over to it, grabs up the shirt, and goes in search of a pair of scissors. 

~

When Lou comes in later, Debbie is curled up on the couch in a black lace dress which skims just under her collarbones and barely comes to mid-thigh, especially in her current position. She's staring into the flames of a fire in the grate, and Lou pauses a moment to take in the whole scene. 

Debbie looks up as familiar hands land on her shoulders, and Lou bends to give her a kiss she's only too happy to arch into. 

"...Hey, good day?"

"Pretty good thanks. Is that...?"

"Yeah. Found it in the closet. Thought it might be nice to see if I could still fit into it."

"Looks like you can."

"Doesn't it. Might need some help getting out of it though...?"

Lou grins. 

"I'm sure I can help with that... What's that on the fire?"

Debbie's gaze slides back to it as she watches another shred of fabric shrivel and crumble. 

"...Nothing important."

"...Okay. What do you want for dinner?"

"You've done all the cooking since I came back."

"That's because you're a disaster in the kitchen and I have known you to burn water."

"I figured we could get Chinese? My treat? And I made some peanut butter chocolate chip blondies for dessert."

"Ooh my favourite."

Debbie smiles fondly, gazing up at her, already anticipating the aromas of ginger and garlic and soy from the takeout, and the rich saltiness of dessert.

"I thought so, so is that a yes?"

Lou grins and leans down for another quick kiss, Debbie surrenders it gladly and takes a moment to breathe in the scent of her, grinning despite herself. This is what home smells like.


	3. Taste

Of the two of them, it's always been Lou who's had a little more of an oral fixation. It comes from years of smoking. Debbie is the one who is more driven by her stomach though, like she told Tammy part of the attraction of Claude was that he was great in the kitchen. And it had been a rough patch with Lou, but even acknowledging that, Lou was still the better cook. No, for the most part, prison food wasn't as bad as people said, but it still wasn't good, and the food in solitary was... well logically it must have had some nutritional value but Debbie was pretty sure you'd need a lab full of scientific instruments to find it. 

Lou was a good cook before, endlessly inventive in the kitchen, but now she has security and resources and a better kitchen, and she is definitely more than capable of passing for the nutritional specialist Tammy claimed in a moment of genius. Even if she wasn't already entirely head over heels with her for so many other reasons, Debbie is absolutely certain she would have fallen for Lou for her cooking alone. After all, the way to a woman's heart is through her stomach. 

The way Lou stares at her mouth makes Debbie notice Lou's more often, and to be quite honest she can understand the fascination. She watches the way the tip of that pink tongue swipes over the curve of her lip, the way her lips purse when she's focused, the way she smiles... and every time she finds herself wondering how Lou tastes, because she /knows/, god knows they've spent enough time exploring that with each other at every opportunity, but honestly the novelty hasn't worn off, and there's such a range. Debbie finds there are a few tastes she particularly likes on Lou. Peppermint is an amazing one, and cinnamon, and the burn of second-hand bourbon when they're up late in the club sharing drinks and body heat, far beyond words. 

Underlying every single kiss is the taste of Lou, and honestly, she's delicious even in the mornings, which is a feat verging on goddess-like which is honestly unfair. Of course, the taste of Lou is more than just her lips. There's the taste of that spot just behind her ear that makes her breath catch as her lip hooks between her teeth and she tilts her head, torn between more and less at the same time, and the salty tang of the valley between her breasts which Debbie loves to linger over as she kisses a trail lower, leaving red marks behind which will fade by morning. She tries not to mark Lou too much, still a little wary of staking a claim, but she welcomes every single bruise Lou leaves blossoming on her skin, wears them with pride. 

As well as being a fan of food in general, Debbie's favourite course has always been dessert. She likes sweet things, shameless about it, but given the choice her favourite dessert will always be Lou. Lou's sensibilities have so far precluded them attempting to combine dessert and sex the way some people do, but really Debbie doesn't care. All the stuff designed for that kind of play tastes artificial anyway, and she'd far rather enjoy Lou without anything inconvenient and sticky to get in the way. Clean up sucks enough without bringing in chocolate body paint or mint syrup, and really, all of those things would just interfere with tasting Lou and that's the best part. Well, that and the way Lou makes her whole body shake and her eyes roll back and makes her find muscles she didn't even know she had. 

Debbie has always been careful to avoid drugs, which isn't always easy in their line of work, but she also knows her own personality to know it's not a route to ever go down. Other things can be addictive too, and for the most part they're much less destructive, adrenaline is one, endorphins, oxytocin... all of those are addictive, and all of those are in plentiful supply with Lou. Sometimes Debbie wonders if it's really just Lou she's addicted to, but then she gets caught up in a whirlwind of kisses that take her breath away and touches that set her skin on fire and decides that it doesn't really matter. If it's possible for something to taste like home, then that's what Lou tastes like, all the time, under everything, and she's just grateful that she never has to go that long between hits anymore. Really, every single time they kiss, whether it's a quick peck in passing or something longer, all it does is remind Debbie how urgent and important it is that she not fuck this up again, because there's no way she'd ever deserve a third chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I haven't been fighting not to call this "(In love with) The Taste Of Lou" you would be wrong.


	4. Touch

It's late, time for bed really, and Debbie stares at her reflection in the mirror as she takes out her earrings and puts them carefully away. She's still getting used to how domestic all of this is, but really, she loves it. It feels like home, being here with Lou, like pieces of the universe she didn't even realise were out of place have slid where they belong. Sometimes it still aches a little just how much she missed Lou in prison, and even before that with Claude. They're both older now, and that little bit wiser, and Debbie is a lot more certain about what she wants. After all, she had a lot of time to think about it. These days she's also much less ashamed to go after it. 

She takes off her makeup and throws the cotton pads in the bin, following up with her moisturiser and finally letting her hair down before she grabs the t-shirt from the little stool by her dressing table and tugs it on over her head. It's soft and perfect, coming down just to her hip bones. It's just cotton really, but it feels like silk on her skin because it's old and well-loved and it's Lou's. It's just another way the blonde is taking over all her senses, and really Debbie is so completely fine with it. 

It's not that she doesn't like silk nightdresses or cotton pyjamas of her own, but... well, wearing Lou's shirts feels good in more ways than just the physical ones. They make her feel protected and secure and loved, and they're a constant reminder of just how lucky she is that after everything she's still allowed to have this. 

She casts her reflection another look. One of Lou's band tees, and a pair of black panties... it's a good look, but it's always nice to have some independent confirmation, and so she flicks the light off and heads back into their bedroom where Lou is already waiting, in her own nightwear of choice, a crop top and shorts, propped up against the pillows, book in hand. 

When she notices Debbie, Lou puts the book down and watches her, shameless about it, admiration on her face that's so warm it feels like the sunlight and it's all Debbie can do not to close her eyes and bask in it... but she doesn't, and Lou shifts to sit up on the edge of the bed as Debbie approaches, reaching out when she's within arm's reach to tug her closer. Debbie goes, kneeling over her lap and leaning down for a kiss Lou is only too willing to give as familiar hands cup her ass and slide up, under the fabric of the stolen t-shirt, leaving tingling trails all over Debbie's body. 

The kiss itself is lazy and languid, and when it finally breaks, Lou's hands are still running over Debbie's body, over her sides, her hips, and honestly it makes her melt a little bit. There's possessiveness in that touch, sure, but more than that, there's admiration and respect and appreciation and this is the difference because the possessiveness is pride and /fuck/ it feels good to be something someone else is proud of. 

Debbie closes her eyes and tilts her head back, feeling her hair cascading down as Lou nuzzles against her willingly exposed throat, kissing over the soft skin, along her collarbones, nipping lightly and Debbie moans just a little bit because she wants that mark, that claim, that promise... and Lou gives it to her, one hand on Debbie's back now to steady her where she's arched, and then Lou eases her down and over onto the bed, and they're lying on their sides, facing each other, gazing into each other's eyes. 

Lou has a soft smile on her face, one that Debbie has never once seen around another person, and it's enough to make her blush, because real fondness and real love still do that, even if she feels them herself. Lou is so wiling to be open with her, and that still takes her breath away. There's a lot she could learn from Lou Miller about shame, really, and Debbie just hopes that one day it will sink in. Today isn't that day just yet, but they share another kiss, and Debbie nuzzles in, uncharacteristically shy as Lou tugs her close, willing as ever to wrap around her. 

"... So you like the shirt?"

"It's a good look."

Debbie laughs a little, smiling brightly as Lou kisses her again, rolling over her, making Debbie look at her, meet her eyes. 

"...That's a yes?"

"It's a yes. I quite like this new trend of you stealing my clothes. We'll have to come to some arrangement though."

"I prefer stuff that smells like you. And old stuff is fine since you're the only one who's going to see it."

"Alright. I'll see what I can find. Just t-shirts?"

"Any shirts."

"You'd look good in a button-down and nothing else too?"

"Maybe tomorrow night?"

Lou chuckles and rolls back onto her own side of the bed, one arm still tucked beneath Debbie's head, cushioning it, keeping her close. The other arm is slung easily over her waist, and Debbie shifts a little closer, lying on her back now and tucked up close to Lou. The kiss is to her cheek this time, and Debbie turns to nuzzle her. 

"...Love you."

"I love you too."


	5. Sound

When Debbie wakes in the middle of the night she has to take a few deep breaths and steady herself because she can hear the blood pounding in her ears. As the rushing subsides she becomes aware of other sounds, chief among them Lou's breathing. She can feel it too, against the skin just behind her ear, and it's slow and rhythmic and something she can hold on to, matching her own to it. Focusing on that brings her back into her body and the feeling of Lou's heartbeat against her spine. She takes her time grounding herself in sound and feeling before she shifts a little, and that's enough to dredge Lou up from the depths of unconsciousness. She's attuned even to the smallest shift, the way Lou's breathing hitches just a little and her hand slides up under Debbie's shirt over her ribs, matching the breath skittering over the skin of her neck as her voice, thick with sleep, breaks the silence like a physical thing.

"Y'okay?"

"...I am now?"

"Bad dream?"

"Don't remember."

Debbie offers no resistance as Lou wraps that arm around her ribs and uses it to gently tug her over, rolling her so they're nose to nose and letting Debbie nuzzle in under her jaw. 

Lou presses a kiss to her temple and Debbie closes her eyes, focusing on the feel of Lou's pulse as she curls her fingers into the fabric of Lou's shirt. 

Lou smiles, purring a little as she tucks Debbie closer. Debbie revels in the way they fit together, in the way their legs tangle together so easily, the way it's so hard to tell cocooned in warmth and darkness and Lou where she ends and the other woman begins. 

"What do you need, babe? Talk to me."

"Talk to me?"

Lou's hand strokes down her spine, from her shoulderblades to her hipbones, and Debbie purrs into it. 

"You need me to talk to you?"

"Yeah. Please."

"...Alright sweetheart. I can do that. I've got you, you know that, right? I'm here and I've got you... you're here with me, where you belong. Nobody's gonna hurt you here. Nobody can get to us. We're in the club, in my room, in my bed... in our room, in our bed. You're my girl, and I've got you."

They haven't talked much about prison, and Debbie doesn't really want to change that. It's not really something she wants to dwell on, or talk about, and there's nothing in particular that's dragging it up. She's just glad that Lou isn't pushing, has never pushed, is just willing to take her as she is, the way she always has been. 

"I'm your girl?"

"Don't you want to be?"

"I do. I'm just... I guess part of me is still surprised that you want me to be."

"Part of me is still surprised too, to be honest. I guess we both had time to think while you were away. When you first went, honestly I was pissed. I was furious. I didn't want to forgive you for what you did. But I had time to miss you, and despite everything I did while you were away trying to get you out of my head and move on and forget you... it didn't work."

Debbie pressed her face into Lou's neck, taking a deep breath and feeling the words with her body as much as she heard them with her ears. 

"...Yeah. I fucked up. I had... reasons. They weren't good reasons. Fear is... never a good reason. That's what it was, really. You don't have to believe me, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But I was... falling for you, hard and fast, and I wanted you so much. So much. It was terrifying for me to admit that to myself and Claude was there and... easier, somehow. It wasn't a good decision. Honestly prison wasn't even that bad a price to pay for it. It was a wake up call in a number of ways. The biggest of them was realising that losing you was... that was the worst part."

Lou's hand is still stroking up and down the line of her spine, and it's almost physically painful for Debbie to turn her face to nuzzle under her jaw, to bring herself back to the real world from being lost in Lou, which really is always preferable. 

"...You're back here now, where you belong. With me."

"I know, and that..." Debbie sighs, "That's what matters. In comparison to everything else... the heist, everything... I'd give all of that up in a heartbeat to just... be with you again. Be yours."

"You don't have to do that. You wouldn't be you if you weren't plotting something, and god help me, it's you I love. I know... you haven't talked about what happened inside since you came out. And I'm not going to make you. I'm just asking... what do you need from me?"

Debbie hesitates for a long moment, feeling Lou's heartbeat echoing in her own ribs again, perfectly synced with her own, and she closes her eyes against tears that are threatening from nowhere. 

"...You. It sounds... cliched or ridiculous or... nonsensical I don't know but that's the answer. I need you. I need the way you touch me, the way you talk to me, the way you smell, the way you taste, the sound of your voice and your breath and your heartbeat, the way you look at me... because when I'm lost, when I'm so lost in my own mind or in my memories or in... a frenzy of energy... you're my anchor. You always have been. My anchor and my lodestone and my north star. And really, all I need is you."


End file.
